


Sea salt and lemongrass

by the_problem_with_stardust



Category: The Witcher (TV)
Genre: Bathing/Washing, Comfort, F/M, Good Parent Yennefer z Vengerbergu | Yennefer of Vengerberg, Hair Braiding, Hair Washing, Kaer Morhen, Minor Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Jaskier | Dandelion/Yennefer z Vengerbergu, Tenderness, Winter At Kaer Morhen, Yen deserves nice things, ciri and geralt are mentioned
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-03
Updated: 2021-02-03
Packaged: 2021-03-14 10:08:44
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,189
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29169357
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/the_problem_with_stardust/pseuds/the_problem_with_stardust
Summary: Jaskier coaxes her into the steaming tub and Yennefer barely holds back a groan. The phantom ache in her spine, the one that persisted even after her ascension, melts away at the perfect temperature. She lets her mind drift as Jaskier sorts through their belongings, his and hers and Geralt’s hopelessly mixed together and scattered across the room until it was almost a challenge to tell what had originally belonged to whom.
Relationships: Jaskier | Dandelion/Yennefer z Vengerbergu | Yennefer of Vengerberg
Comments: 6
Kudos: 26
Collections: Sugar and Spice Witcher Bingo





	Sea salt and lemongrass

**Author's Note:**

> This was written for my "comfort after a bad day" bingo square.

Yennefer lets the heavy door swing shut behind her with a bang. The room is already occupied, but she ignores Jaskier as she tosses her outer coater onto the wooden chair in the corner, followed by her long woolen scarf and the too-large mittens she’d acquired from one of her companions.

When her frozen fingers stumble over the pearl buttons of her dress, a warm hand covers her own.

“May I help?” Jaskier asks, waiting patiently for her nod before he takes over, working the fine buttons free and exposing more of her skin to the mountain chill.

It is not their first winter at Kaer Morhen, but unlike the year prior all four members of their ramshackle family arrived together. Yennefer tries not to think of the early days, when she and Geralt circled each other like wary cats and Jaskier spent days locked away in his own room until Ciri or Lamber managed to coax him out. Their edges were too sharp back then, honed by the dragon mountain and tempered in the fires of Sodden and time spent in a Nilfgaardian prison.

After she and Jaskier had become unlikely allies and escaped their captors, Yennefer wanted to lay low while she replenished her chaos and Jaskier needed a safe place to heal. Luckily, they’d encountered Eskel in Kaedwen and he’d invited them to the witcher’s keep as his guests.

“A copper for your thoughts?” Jaskier says quietly, buttons and fastenings finally undone.

Yennefer lets out a long sigh and sags against him, letting the warm, solid feeling of him ground her back to the present.

“The storm today reminded me of our arrival last season.”

Jaskier hums, the quiet thoughtfulness something she never would have expected in the early years of their acquaintance.

“I thought of it too,” he admits, wrapping his arms around her. The first glimpse of the keep, shrouded in mist and snow, was a faint memory overlaid by the constant burning in her hands and the empty look in Jaskier’s eyes.

“There’s a bath, if you want it,” he says, after they have spent too long dwelling on the past. “Geralt heated it before he went to find Ciri. It should be a good temperature now.”

Yennefer tenses at the words, a reminder of the way Ciri had shouted and stormed off during lessons today and Jaskier runs soothing hands down her arms.

“She’ll be fine, Yenn,” he says. “You’re a good mother. Ciri just needs to test her own limits sometimes.”

The words take out any fight left in her, leaving only a bone-deep weariness. Yennefer worries sometimes – all the time – that she pushes too hard. Tissaia was cold and aloof, bordering on cruel and Yennefer desperately strives not to be her mentor.

“Here we are. Step in for me?”

Jaskier coaxes her into the steaming tub and Yennefer barely holds back a groan. The phantom ache in her spine, the one that persisted even after her ascension, melts away at the perfect temperature. She lets her mind drift as Jaskier sorts through their belongings, his and hers and Geralt’s hopelessly mixed together and scattered across the room until it was almost a challenge to tell what had originally belonged to whom.

Humming to himself absentmindedly, he returns juggling a soap cake and several small bottles. He lathers soap onto a soft cloth and starts to wash her shoulders. Immediately, she can tell the soap is the one he uses sparingly on days when he needs an escape from the ghosts in his own head. The scent of sea salt and lemongrass is sharp against her nose, fresh like an ocean breeze. The fact that he is sharing this with her means something, but the specifics escape her.

She’ll get it out of him someday. But for now, she relaxes into the familiar smell, only moving when Jaskier asks and feeling weightless.

“May I wash your hair?” he asks, once she’s scrubbed clean and the cloth is drying over the hearth.

“If you insist,” she says, trying to sound put upon but failing miserably.

Jaskier doesn’t call her on it, just brings over the bucket of fresh water that had been warming by the fire.

“I do insist,” he says, and takes extra care when he wets her hair not to get any in her eyes.

It is so different from the brash, playful way he splashes at Geralt, but Yennefer supposes a relationship forged in the fires of a shared prison cell is different than one formed between long-time travel companions turned lovers. Which is why Jaskier is here with Yennefer and Geralt is off chasing after their wayward daughter.

Jaskier is gentle as he lathers her hair, fingers working through the tangles caused by dry winter winds and constant hat-wearing. He shows the same care as he rinses her hair one last times and then sits back on his heels.

“Are you ready to get out?” he asks and she takes a moment to gather herself, luxuriating a little longer in the cooling water.

He gets to his feet, making a face as his knee pops. Before he can step away, she catches his hand, squeezing in silent thanks. He squeezes back and she lets him help her to her feet and out of the tub. Almost before she can notice the chill, he wraps her in a drying sheet and guides her to sit in front of the fire. 

“You could braid it,” she offers, as he runs his fingers through her hair.

Jaskier straightens where he’s seated behind, bracketing her between the warmth of the fire and the warmth of his body.

“Of course, anytime,” he says and the convenience of not sleeping on wet hair is vastly eclipsed by the way his voice softens. It is why she asked, why she felt comfortable asking.

Jaskier begins to sing as he works, something sweet but melancholy in an old Keracki dialect. It’s a familiar tune, one he soothes Ciri to sleep with after nightmares. It soothes Yennefer too, until she’s reached the point of almost-sleep, only coming back to herself when Jaskier ties off the braid and sings the final haunting notes.

“Bedtime,” he says decisively, after a jaw-cracking yawn.

Yennefer holds onto his hand as he stands, letting him pull her up too. She lets the damp sheet fall to the floor and he leads her to the big bed. He tucks her in beneath the heavy duvet and a mountain of furs before moving to straighten the room and bank the fire. When the tub is the only thing left to take care of, he strips down to his underthings and crawls under the covers with her. Yennefer curls around him readily, bodies twinning together in a familiar way. He runs his fingers over the braid he put in her hair, then lets her tuck her head beneath his chin.

There are three words she’d like to say to him, but it won’t be tonight. Maybe tomorrow, when she is no longer feeling so raw and exposed.

But Yennefer gets the feeling Jaskier already knows.

**Author's Note:**

> Did you know medieval European women cleaned their hair with bacon fat and ashes? That’s the extent of my research, I read the Wikipedia page and went 'lol historical accuracy who?' Also, do sea salt and lemongrass smell good together? Idk I just read that my shampoo is sea salt and some kind of seaweed, but lemongrass sounds more poetic. Jaskier would approve XD
> 
> Come say hello on [tumblr!](https://theproblemwithstardust.tumblr.com)


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